Lullaby

PART SIX --

The snow had stopped falling during their night of rest, and a white blanket glistened in the sunlight trying to peek out from behind the clouds.

Clothes were strewn and folded neatly along the banks of a creek flowing in a southerly direction. Elves sat on the edge watching their kin and friends bathing noisily in the water. Dust and dirt washed away, the frigid water soothing healed wounds and bruises. They had traveled half the day to bathe, and it would be another day and half before they saw the Gates

Lathdir laughed with his lover in the water, and it seemed that the elves that had left a decade before were returning in spirit.

Malterin’s hands massaged down Thranduil’s soapy back. Her naked breasts and nipples tickled against his skin. The day before, he had been too exhausted, too distant to touch her beyond a few gentle kisses. But now, in the daylight, in the river filled with laughing Sylvans and Sindar, he tingled under her caresses.

His wood spirit’s fingers danced over his skin.

Thranduil closed his eyes, letting her touch remind him of summer days before the bitter winter night. Of days when things were simpler.

--------

“Have his things transferred to my chambers, and mine to his.” Amrun sucked in her breath and held it a moment. It was her final admittance to Oropher not returning. She would remove herself from the chambers that he had had carved for them. It was fitting and proper for the soon-to-be king to reside there, her gift to Thranduil.

Turning around, she saw Galion, his silver brows knit into a stern expression though his turquoise eyes glittered with a hope she had not seen in sometime.

“What is it, Master Galion.” She bent and smoothed a wrinkle on the bed.

“They are soon to arrive, my lady.”

“Oropher begged no formalities of you.” Amrun straightened and breathed deeply. “How long,” she murmured looking toward the window where she noticed the snow had stopped falling.

“Less than a day, by evening tomorrow, I suspect.”

Amrun strode to the balcony. Her pale fingers curled around the stone rail. It always struck her, the cold feeling of the stone compared to the home they had in Lindon. The wood had breathed and felt so alive beneath her fingers in that home, but the stone did not. It was solid and unmoving, unfeeling almost.

“He will be much changed,” she whispered to no one.

--------

“My lord, we should be leaving soon if we are to make it by sundown tomorrow.”

Thranduil opened his eyes and looked at Halathir on the shore. The dark-haired Sinda was already dressed, with Thranduil’s horse at his side. The stallion snorted, its black eyes focused on its master. Malterin’s arms encircled his waist and tightened, her palms smoothed over his abdomen.. But he could not stay. Too much beckoned him, and he regretted not making love to her the day before. There was no time now.

His hands upon hers, he loosened her from him and lifted her slender fingers to his lips.

Lathdir stopped his bathing activities and frowned. As much as it displeased him, Halathir was correct. Thranduil had to be crowned, and the sooner the better.

Motherin kissed his shoulder, then his throat. Lathdir closed his eyes, her velvet lips soft against his skin.

“I offer again, come to the caverns--if only for me,” he muttered for her ears only. Her kisses stopped and she pulled away; eyes averted she turned toward the bank and stepped onto the snow. Motherin said nothing. She picked up her shift and dressed.

Around them elves left the creek and dressed. The Sylvans that chose to remain embraced their comrades-in-arms.

Watering dripping from his hair and body, Lathdir left the creek. She refused to look at him. He towered next to her in all his nude glory; his whole form blazed with his frustration. He opened his mouth to speak.

“Do not make me say the reasons again,” she whispered before he uttered a word. Green eyes steady with her own anger, Motherin made eye contact with him but soon found herself staring at his lips. She dropped her gaze again. “Get dressed and go back to your cage.” They avoided repeating the argument.

“Such a homecoming,” he stated, his body tense--holding back, and turned to pull on his clothing.

She stared at his back, her expression falling when he could not see her. “This is your home.”

He winced and paused in pulling his tunic over his head. “I made an oath.” The tunic molded to his wet body. “And I mean to stand by it. Thranduil will be king soon and need faithful companions to surround him.” He stepped into his boots.

She winced. “I have been ever faithful,” her voice low and defensive. She stooped to pick up his sword and belt, handing it to him as he turned to reach for them.

Jerking them from her hand and cinching the belt loose about his waist, he bit his lip, chewed it.

“It is not enough,” he finally replied. Thranduil was standing ready with his horse, Malterin stood away from him. She would not go either. Lathdir crinkled his nose and began to walk away. It was time to leave. Again.

“I have missed you.” There was no pleading for him to stay in her voice, just the statement of a fact.

He kept walking.

“As I have missed you,” he muttered under his breath.

-------

“That chair will do.” Galion pointed a slender finger at a straight backed chair, carved of wood. “It was his father’s.” It was not a throne; no intricate decoration, just simple scrolling for the back, and green brocade for the cushion. A chair fit for a dining hall, to be lost in a sea of a hundred others exactly like it. And it had been--in a court long forgotten, and thousands of leagues away in a land long gone. Now it sat alone in a dusty corner of Oropher’s chambers.

“Take it to the great hall.”

An ellon picked the chair up and carried it out of the chamber.

There was no precedence for crowning an heir in Mirkwood. Oropher’s had been outside, among the flowers and greenery of Spring Equinox. And it had not been anything more than the simple acceptance of the Sylvans to his leadership. Just a general nod and consensus among those that chose to. A crown of flowers and leaves had been placed on his head; no circlet of mithril. That had come later.

Woven branches of mithril with leaves of gold sat on a side table in the bedroom. Oropher had placed it there his last night with his wife.

Galion picked up the circlet and blew the decade of dust from it. She had ordered Oropher’s things untouched, to remain as he had left them. The metal was cold and heavy in his hand.

“I could not carry such a weight,” he mused, his fingers tracing over the intertwined mithril branches. Another elf stood at his side, in his hands a box trimmed on the inside with red velvet. Galion placed the crown into the box and closed the lid.

----

“Look.” Thranduil signaled to his companions to stop. He reined his horse to a halt and leapt down. Lathdir and Halathir exchanged understanding glances as Thranduil walked away. An ice-laden bush sparkled in the budding sunlight.

Thranduil brushed his fingers over the frozen color of the crimson holly berries and the sharp points of the leaves. Fine fingers of frost and ice created captivating patterns across the bush.

“What stunning beauty in such a desolate place,” he murmured, drawing back his hand. It was a shock to see such vivid color after so much gray and white. So much shadow, most of it in his mind. Closing his eyes, Thranduil felt a drop slide down his cheek. The red had appeared as drops of blood on the branches, and scenes of the battle returned to him.

The slide of the mud as he ran through the bodies.

“Such a simple beauty, my lord,” Lathdir said in a hushed tone, sliding down from the horse he and Halathir shared.

Halathir stood back, watching as Lathdir approached Thranduil and touched the bush. In all the years he had known the Sylvan, his respect for him had grown. It had taken him sometime to fully trust Lathdir, but once he had, there was no other he would have stand beside him--other than Thranduil.

The Sinda had been amazed at the deep connection the elf had with his surroundings, the forest world he had been born into. Watching him now, Halathir felt it, almost thought he could sense the jolt as the Sylvan’s fingers touched the bush.

Thranduil looked up at Lathdir, opening his eyes and flicking away the single tear. He pursed his lips, then relaxed them with a sad expression. Lathdir’s profile suddenly struck him, a proud chin and angular jaw that the Sylvan had of late carried with a grim expression. But then there was so much to be grim about.

Lathdir softened the clench of his teeth and cocked his head a bit. Catching Thranduil’s gaze, he smiled. The laughter of innocence and youth was gone from Thranduil’s eyes, and Lathdir wondered if his own eyes were so changed. Empty orbs where smiles never reached anymore.

Thranduil nodded. “It is simple, but so stunning at the same time.”

“True,” the Sylvan sighed, looking up at the new falling snow. Small flakes drifted silently around them, great spaces between them. The sun hid again behind clouds, but things seemed gentler than the storm that had come before.

His gloved hand caressed the hilt of his sword on his hip, and Lathdir felt a pang of … something. He could not describe it, but it saddened him. A sense of guilt almost, a contrast of what he had seen and done compared to the gentle spirit around him now--an innocent spirit that seemed unaware of all his deeds. Feminine laughter echoed in his ears, and spirit danced about him, caressing him and beckoning him to stay

But it had been necessary, Lathdir reminded himself.

He jerked as fingers hesitantly touched his shoulder. Turning his head, Lathdir smiled weakly at Thranduil.

“The berries and leaves of the holly have always brought me such great joy. To see the contrast, the reminder of life when everything appears dead and sleeps.”

Thranduil nodded. “Will you remain and stand beside me? I know the caverns seem--”

Lathdir held up his hand, hardening his expression again. “I swore to your father and I will do again for you. You have my loyalty.” He caught Halathir’s approving smile behind Thranduil.

The corner of Thranduil’s mouth twitched. “I am not king yet, my friend.” He removed his hand from Lathdir’s shoulder and turned on his heel. Halathir held the reins of his horse and handed them to him.